Heirs of Acadia - 03 - The Noble Fugitive (41 page)

He waved them off, then resumed his slow pacing in front of the mansion. To escape the sorrow his future held, Falconer’s mind returned to their Atlantic crossing. It had been as lovely a time as ever in his life. He had spent the days in Serafina’s company. They had done everyday things, the same as the other passengers. They had walked the decks beneath a pleasant sky. They had studied the Scriptures. They had spoken about their pasts. But they had not talked about the future. Serafina could not look beyond the painful reunion
ahead. And Falconer had wished for no future beyond the days they shared together.

The vessel had off-loaded supplies in Trinidad and taken on a load of cane sugar bound for Baltimore. Falconer had taken three stout seamen along in Trinidad as guards, for he feared the legal documents he kept in his waist pouch would hold little weight that far from London. But he had not been challenged.

In the capital’s outskirts he had discovered that Felix was alive, protected by parishioners who had spirited him away at the first hint of danger. Since Falconer was known as both friend and ally, he had been led to the small freehold where Felix now resided. Felix had embraced him and received Falconer’s news with tears of joy. Falconer had passed over copies of the pamphlet they had put together, and the Commons edict proposing an outright ban of slavery, and the newspaper articles declaring that it was only a matter of time before the ban was put into force. Falconer had watched the older man gradually comprehend that they had won. He had bowed his head with Felix and given thanks for God’s power.

But Falconer had not been tempted to stay. His time in the West Indies was over.

Too soon they had sailed their way north to Baltimore. Too soon the river barge arrived in Georgetown. Too soon the carriage driver located the mansion on Pennsylvania Avenue where the Austrian legate resided. Too soon Serafina gripped his hand and shed tears of pain and dread as he prayed for her reunion with her parents. Too soon she left him behind and walked inside. Too soon.

Falconer looked to the sky above and silently begged his Father in heaven for the strength to let her go.

He could almost wish that he had bade her farewell in England. But even then he had been too much in love to refuse himself as many days in her company as Serafina would grant. Falconer resisted a sudden desire to glance down at his chest. For it felt as though he had taken a cannonball through the
heart and now there was nothing but a void through which the cold wind blew.

He wished he had the strength to give thanks for having known such a love. Even though Serafina made no promises nor treated him as anything other than a dear friend. Their most intimate moments had been the times at prayer. Falconer had never known what it would be like for Serafina to look at him in love. He had never known the way her cheek might feel beneath his touch. He had never known the flavor of her kiss.

Still, he counted himself as blessed as any man for every hour he had spent in her company.

The church bells sounded the half hour. As though on signal, the mansion’s front door opened. Falconer stiffened as though ordered by an unseen voice to full attention.

Be strong,
he told himself. For her and all the days they would not share.

Three of them emerged together. A woman clung to Serafina’s shoulders, lovely in middle age, even with her face reddened by the tears she had recently shed. One glance was all it took to know she was Serafina’s mother. She stared at Falconer with the desperate disquiet of one recently saved from her own grave.

Serafina’s father looked equally spent. He too had clearly been weeping. He held himself erect with great effort. He was dressed like a prince, with an embroidered long coat and shoes bearing silver buckles. But his face bore the stain of deep suffering, along with the anguish of joyful release. “Y-you are John Falconer, is that correct?”

Falconer doffed his hat as an officer should, fitting his fingers into the peak, and swung it down and to his side, bowing deeply. “I am, your lordship.”

“My name is Alessandro Gavi.” He bowed in reply. “May I present to you my wife, Bettina.”

“An honor, madam.”

The woman’s voice was hoarse and low, and quivered brokenly as she spoke in Italian. Serafina’s own voice was
unsteady as she translated, “My mother begs your forgiveness, but her English has escaped her.”

“I understand, ma’am.” And he did. For his own mind seemed to stumble with the slowness of molasses over every word.
O Lord, give me strength to say a proper farewell
.

“Mr. Falconer, to even try and thank you would be a grave error. We are in such debt as we shall never be able to express, much less repay.” The man’s chin quivered. He coughed deeply and gripped his daughter in a one-armed embrace. “You have brought life again to this old heart.”

“Knowing she is safely returned to her family is all the thanks I shall ever need, sir.”

The mother broke down then. And the daughter as well. The mother tried to speak, but the words emerged in fragments. Serafina was in no condition to even attempt a translation. Which was just as well.

In that moment, Falconer felt his heart tear in two.

It was over. His time of love upon this earth was done.

Mr. Gavi gestured back toward the manor. “Please, sir. Please to come inside.”

But not even the temptation of one more hour with Serafina could grant Falconer the strength to enter. “Thank you, but I must be off.”

All three of the Gavis looked at him with genuine despair. “But, sir!” The gentleman waved feebly. “At least grant me—”

“Serafina.” Speaking her name was almost enough to open the floodgates. But a lifetime of hardship served John Falconer well. He would not weep in public. He granted himself the chance to say the word once more. The loveliest word in all the languages of all the world. “Serafina.”

“Yes?”

“It is time.”

“No. You can’t—”

“I must.”

He started to turn away, forced by the sorrow welling up inside him, as hot and strong as lava. He would walk away
now and make the end of the street, and turn the corner, and give himself over to the lifetime of loneliness that awaited.

Serafina stepped away from her parents’ embrace and took hold of his hand.

He looked down at the soft fingers. He did not have the strength to tear himself away. “Serafina. Please.”

But she did not release him. His entire universe was centered upon the hand that held his own. He was helpless. He knew he was scarce moments away from weeping. And unable to do a thing except stand there.

Then a second hand touched his arm. One that was not Serafina’s but rather her mother’s.

“Please, good sir. You will listen to my husband, yes?”

His mind had to make a huge effort to make sense of the words. English. Serafina’s mother had spoken to him in English. And her words held an appeal that was mirrored by her gaze and that of her daughter’s.

“My daughter has spoken of you in words that I cannot repeat without weeping,” Mr. Gavi said. “It is a silly thing for a man to admit. But it is the truth, sir. And that is what she has told us. Of a man who has spoken to her in truth and truth alone. Who has protected her and brought her home. Time and again keeping her safe. A man of honesty and integrity.”

“Sir—”

“Wait, John Falconer.” Serafina pressed his hand more tightly still. “Listen.”

“Mr. Falconer, you have answered many prayers this day.”

“So many,” Bettina Gavi agreed in her deep-throated voice. “Many times many.”

“I would speak of this inside, but since you insist . . .” He waved it aside as unimportant. “Sir, I have been sent to America on a matter of utmost secrecy. I have prayed for someone I could trust, who counts money beneath dignity, who would accept great risk. A man I could trust, sir, with my life and my family’s honor.”

Falconer found himself drawing back from the brink. The internal motion was almost against his will. For he had found the strength to do what he must, which was turn and walk away. Now that he knew the pain that lay in store, he was uncertain that he could find the strength again.

If Serafina’s father noticed Falconer’s distress, he gave no sign. “A grave responsibility has been laid upon me, sir. I must trust my instincts and speak openly. I am a stranger in this land. Since arriving here, I have heard many promises of loyalty. But who to trust with these grave duties? I can only look at what is here before me. A man has restored to me my most precious possession, my daughter. He has kept her honor intact. He has asked nothing in return. In fact, I see that he is now willing to turn and walk away.”

“No,” Mrs. Gavi murmured. “You must not.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Falconer stammered.

The gentleman lowered his voice. “The merchants of Venice loaned a coalition of American merchants a great sum of money, sir. In secrecy. There was a run upon your banks, in New York and in Boston. The merchants and their banks were overextended.”

“Sir, such matters are beyond my comprehension.”

“No matter. The crisis has passed, but the banks still do not have the money to repay us. So we have been offered ownership of . . . Excuse me, I have lost the words.” He turned and spoke to his daughter in Italian.

“Mines,” Serafina translated. “And a stamping mill.”

“Mines, yes. For gold. In hills to the south and east. In a place called Carolina. There are problems. Immense problems.”

Falconer found his mind becoming clear once more. This was what he knew. This was the only work he had ever known. The sort of work that others would shy from. Dangerous work. Tasks that cried aloud with peril.

Falconer said, “You must travel and see if the claims about these mines are true.”

“Precisely!” The man’s anxiety drew sweat from his brow, despite the chill wind. “If the mines exist, I will accept ownership in repayment for the sum that is owed us. This gold is very important to us. The Venice jewelers, Mr. Falconer, now they must buy all their gold from the Austrian crown and pay a terrible tax. If we can find and manage a source of our own, it would mean a very great deal. But the risk, sir. The risk!”

Falconer looked at the young woman standing between the two anxious parents. He saw the serene assurance with which Serafina regarded him.

No,
he wanted to shout.
I cannot
.

“What I wish to ask you, Mr. Falconer, is this. Will you be the man I have prayed to find? A man who can be trusted to take us safely to these mountains? A man who will deliver us and my funds safely home? Will you be our . . . I am sorry. My daughter told me the word, but already I have forgotten.” He turned to Serafina. “What was it you called this fine gentleman?”

Serafina replied calmly. For once her gaze was truly intact. “A leader and warrior with a servant’s heart.”

Book Four/H
EIRS OF
A
CADIA
The Night Angel

The dramatic story of Serafina and Falconer continues . . .

Serafina, reunited with her parents, quickly adjusts to life in bustling Washington. The painful memories of betrayal in Venice soften with her growing fondness for John Falconer, who has now joined her father in a new commercial venture. His work thrusts him into America’s first gold rush in the Carolina mountains.

When Falconer fails to return from a month-long enterprise as planned, the rumors begin to swirl. He has sailed back to his ruthless life in the Caribbean. He has been shot dead in a gambling dispute. He is rotting in prison for robbery. Serafina seeks hope from yet another tale: a mysterious figure is purchasing slaves throughout the South and secretly setting them free. He is called the Night Angel, and he pays their ransom in freshly-minted gold!

An unexpected visitor leaves Serafina even more unsettled. How does this woman know Falconer, and can her warning be trusted? Serafina, with her father’s help, sets out to determine Falconer’s fate. But is she prepared for her own destiny to be revolutionized if Falconer is indeed revealed as . . .

The Night Angel

Watch for this powerful combination
of romance and redemption

DAVIS BUNN
, a professional novelist for over twenty years, is the author of numerous national bestsellers with sales totaling more than six million copies. His work has been published in sixteen languages, and his critical acclaim includes three Christy Awards for excellence in fiction. Formerly an international business executive working in Europe, Africa, and the Middle East, Bunn is now a lecturer in creative writing and Writer in Residence at Regent’s Park College, Oxford University. He and his wife, Isabella, divide their time between the English countryside and the coast of Florida.

ISABELLA BUNN
has been a vital part of his writing success; her research and attention to detail have left their imprint on nearly every story. Their life abroad has provided much inspiration and information for plots and settings. They live near Oxford, England.

Books by Davis Bunn

The Book of Hours
The Great Divide
Winner Take All
The Lazarus Trap
Elixir
Imposter

Lion of Babylon
Rare Earth
All Through the Night
My Soul to Keep

A
CTS OF
F
AITH*

The Centurion’s Wife • The Hidden Flame
The Damascus Way

S
ONG OF
A
CADIA*

The Meeting Place • The Sacred Shore
The Birthright • The Distant Beacon
The Beloved Land

H
EIRS OF
A
CADIA
†

The Solitary Envoy • The Innocent Libertine
The Noble Fugitive • The Night Angel
Falconer’s Quest

*with Janette Oke       †with Isabella Bunn